


caught

by cab, poetictragedy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:58:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cab/pseuds/cab, https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetictragedy/pseuds/poetictragedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek both walk in on the other masturbating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	caught

**Author's Note:**

> This story came about after a conversation with [Alex](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cab/profile) about [this gif](http://24.media.tumblr.com/8b3d449cd2f1d76c9c597991c201095d/tumblr_mmtlomqBgp1rvifgmo1_500.gif) and how it could possibly be Tyler Hoechlin and then another conversation about it possibly being Dylan O'Brien.

Stiles is tired. Bone tired and he doesn’t even want to fucking be here. Here, being the myriad of stairs leading up to the (of fucking course) studio loft apartment that Derek’s currently occupying. Because if he’s not squatting in the burnt out shells of his deceased family, he’s living like a starving artist.

But whatever. He doesn’t want to be here, he’s tired and sore from lacrosse as well as running for his life from Kali the night before, but he promised Derek he’d bring him his stupid research. Research meaning: notes he’d compiled from what he’d gathered from his dad’s desk on the recent happenings in town. Derek wanted an update every day. And for some reason, Stiles really wanted to keep his promises to Derek, as if they meant something.

He considers texting Derek a heads up as he’s heading towards the door to the apartment but then decides against it. The douchebag would probably just roll his eyes and say “I’ve heard you stomping up here for the past ten minutes” and Stiles would have to say “then you could have met me down there, fucker” or something. So instead, he pulls out the key Derek made for him, just like he did for the others, and slots in, turns the doorknob.

The sight that hits him just inside the doorway halts whatever rude greeting he was about to shout, has his jaw dropping completely open.

Derek’s slouched down on the couch across from the scratched and chipped coffee table that has his laptop sitting on top of it. But that’s not all.

Because Derek looks like living porn. His hair is messy like someone’s been running a hand through it and his cheeks are flushed nice and pink, a sheen of sweet covering him from his forehead to abs where— oh God, his pants are open, pulled down just below his hips and he’s got one hand working his hard-on through his boxer briefs.  He’s staring with his eyes heavy-lidded at the screen of his laptop where Stiles is 9000% positive porn is playing even if the blood pounding in his ears prevents him from hearing it.

Stiles knows he should walk back out, make some noise, do something but he’s standing transfixed, forgotten how to move completely and all of the blood that began rushing to his cheeks and chest is moving rapidly south. Derek’s squeezing and tugging still, stomach rising and falling with his breaths that seem to come out as light moans and Stiles lets out one with him and Derek’s eyes swivel all the way over to where Stiles stands, widens for a moment before his hips jerk and his grip tightens momentarily and… the hottest fucking thing Stiles has ever seen is ten feet away from him. Because Derek just came in his boxer briefs while staring at Stiles.

“I’m so sorry.” It’s the only thing Stiles can think of to say as he sets the notes down on the ground, looking back at Derek one more time. The Alpha is looking back at him, lip caught between his teeth and cheeks pink, chest rising and falling slowly.

Shit, Stiles cannot do this. He apologizes one more time and runs out of the loft, down the stairs, and trips over the bottom one. Luckily for him, he catches himself before he falls and curses under his breath as he stalks over to the Jeep.

The last thing Stiles sees before he pulls away is Derek standing in the door to his loft, holding the papers in one hand. He’s still shirtless and he’s got a soft smile on his face that Stiles doesn’t know how to interpret, so he doesn’t think about it.

On the way home, all he can think about is Derek. Derek’s hands, his stomach and chest, the way he sounds when he moans, and how badly he wants to be the one making him do that. How Stiles wants nothing more than to get a hand around Derek’s cock and stroke him, make him moan and writhe and whimper.

Stiles’ cock is throbbing by the time he gets home and he just barely gets the Jeep parked before jumping out. Thankfully his father isn’t home and Stiles can just walk inside, take his pants off, and go upstairs while palming himself through his boxers.

As soon as he’s in his room, Stiles gets rid of the rest of his clothes. He throws them all over the place, feeling too hot and stuffy in them and not really caring where they go. The thoughts of Derek fill Stiles’ mind again and he whimpers, catching his lip between his teeth and rolling it around, biting down roughly.

“Fuck,” he breathes, getting a hand around his cock as he sits down on the edge of the bed. His eyes flutter shut, his mouth pops open on a gasp, and he lays back on the middle of the bed to relieve his frustrations.

Only he doesn’t hear the rustling of the tree branches; doesn’t hear the thump on the roof or the footsteps approaching his window. The only thing Stiles can hear is his own breathing and the noise Derek made, playing on a loop in his mind.

Stiles doesn’t know that Derek is outside, sitting in front of the window, watching him just as the teenager watched Derek. 

He arches his back, one hand stroking up and down his cock quickly, neck stretched out as he throws his head back. The strokes get quicker and Stiles breathes hard, moans Derek’s name like he has so many other times, and then he says: “Fuck me.”

Outside, the Alpha groans and presses his face closer to the glass. He gets a hand underneath the pane — which Stiles always keeps open just enough for them to come inside — and slides the whole thing up.

The smell in the room hits him like a punch: Stiles’ scent coupled with the spicy smell of his arousal. It makes Derek moan as he climbs through he window, sitting down on the sill to watch Stiles.

And Stiles keeps going. His body contorting on the bed, the other hand traveling up his stomach and chest, pinching a nipple between his fingers as he fucks into his fist. 

“Derek,” he moans, over and over, breathing hard in between words. He switches nipples, pumps his fist up and down faster, squeezing the base of his cock as he cries out.

It’s too much for Derek and he moans louder, shifting a little on the windowsill, pressing the heel of his hand against himself. The noise is just enough to bring Stiles back to planet earth and he opens his eyes, looking over at the window where Derek is sitting.

He swallows hard and bites down on his lip. There’s colour in his cheeks and it spreads down his neck and chest, which rises and falls hard with each breath he takes.

Derek’s eyes glow red and that seems to be enough because the smell in the room gets more intense and he feels dizzy. He keeps his eyes on the teenager, though, and growls deep in his chest.

Stiles comes with a gasp, his eyes rolling back and his hips stuttering forward. He collapses on the bed, hands falling away from his body, which shudders and twitches in the aftershocks.

A few minutes pass before Derek says, “I came to talk to you about what you saw but I guess we’re even now.”

Before Stiles can say anything, the Alpha is climbing back out of the window and it slides shut behind him, leaving the teenager alone and feeling embarrassed. Sated and relieved — but completely abashed.


End file.
